


Buy You A Mockingbird

by Kaiyoz



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Malnourishment, Medical Inaccuracies, Past Childhood Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Sleep Deprivation, Team Dynamics, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2017-12-28 15:29:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiyoz/pseuds/Kaiyoz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint is captured by AIM and the team is set to rescue him. The hard work starts once they get home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: I beat up Clint again. Shocker! Mildly graphic. This bug was stuck in my head and I had to get it out.

 

Clint’s body ached as he once more dragged himself on top of his six by six inch platform. He had tried to just sit and sleep but that hadn’t worked, his body had been unable to balance and he had fallen. He’d tried, again and again, to balance and sleep but nothing was working. 

When he had first been taken he had snorted in derision when they said they were going to get information out of him. They would let him sleep but he wasn’t sure for how long, his clothes were still completely soaked when he woke so it couldn’t have been long

He hadn’t even been on a mission or op. He’d been going down to the store, he and Thor had had a Pop-Tarts binge and he had elected to go to the store to pick up more, rather than subject the public to Thor. It had been a good trap; they had had him penned in by the time he had realized the trap was closing around him. He had stupidly not called for back up right away and he had been drugged into unconsciousness only to wake up as he was dropped into a pool. That had been the last bit of sleep he had had. 

He was edging into too many days of no sleep. He had tried everything, forcing himself to stay awake by keeping his eyes open but by day eight, or was it five, he hadn’t been able to force his brain to cooperate anymore, his eyes slipped closed and then his brain slipped shut and he hit the water. 

Every time he fell he was forced to climb back onto his platform or risk drowning. The first day he had tried swimming to the edge of the tank and climbing the tank wall but he had been electrocuted. The electricity and the water had not been a good combination; he had lost control of his bladder and had shivered in the water until he managed the muscle control to climb onto his platform. 

Clint had tried to climb the wall three times after that, each time he had been electrocuted to the point of senselessness. He had stopped trying by day four, mostly because he couldn’t really get to the edge anymore. Swimming was too hard. Over and over in his brain he had mapped out the dimensions of the tank, a 16-foot with an 8-foot radius, a 50.27-foot circumference. The water was approximately 7 feet deep, meaning a volume of 351.9 cubic feet of water and the overall volume of the tank (with an approximate fourteen foot height) had a volume of 703.8 cubic feet. Meaning an empty volume of 351.88 cubic feet. 

He had calculated it out in yards, meters, inches, and centimeters but now he had forgotten. He couldn’t get his brain to work. It was frustrating. He had tried so hard and he just couldn’t think.

Clint sobbed under his breath when he tried to keep his brain straight but he just couldn’t do it anymore. They had asked him so many questions, questions he knew better than to answer, even at his most insensate. When Tony had started asking the questions he hadn’t known what to think, he had asked Tony why he was doing this? Why didn’t he just hack in? Had something happened? Tony didn’t like his answers. He slapped him and put him back in the water. Thinking back on it he wasn’t sure if it was actually Tony.

He had tried floating on his back in the pool but his captors hadn’t liked that, a simple water balloon to the face had made him sputter awake. Twenty or more water balloons later his eyes were swollen shut and he was curled on his platform. The salt water was stinging anywhere it touched. 

They had thrown in a few water bottles, letting him drink on occasion. He sipped slowly but the bottle always emptied before he was ready. The few cereal bars that had been tossed into the tank had tasted like salt water. Everything tasted like salt water. He had been forced to dive and grab the food from the bottom of the tank. 

Even perched on his platform he couldn’t sleep, every time his eyes closed he jerked awake and he would end up in the water again. Sometimes the jerking is what sent him into the water. He just… needed to sleep. 

His arms were heavy and his body ached in ways it hadn’t ever before. His skin was cracking. He wasn’t sure how long this had been going on but he felt as if he was boneless, like his skin had soaked in so much water his bones had become liquid and fleshy like the rest of him. A rope around his chest hauled him out of the water. And he was laid on the floor, his body collapsing to sleep. He awoke pretty quickly, his body twitching awake while water ran down his skull. 

Thor was there! Thor grabbed his face; his accent different from it’s normal loud but kind timbre. Thor grabbed his head and shook him. “Thor, stop!” he said, or he might’ve said, he wasn’t sure. The blonde shook him anyway. Why was he doing this? Thor wanted codes? Didn’t he have his hammer? Ask Coulson. Coulson could get him his codes for the tower. Or ask Tony. Clint had a hard time keeping his own code straight. Why did he have to give his code to Thor? Thor needed his own codes. Clint shook his head, and realized that Thor might not be Thor when he hit him. Thor hit a lot harder than that. 

They returned him to his tank. 

He let out a slight sob and waited until the little bit of energy he had gained from his few minutes of sleep had worn off.

He kept falling in the water. He finally screamed in frustration, breaking down a little when he just couldn’t maintain his balance anymore and kept falling in again and again. His skin hurt from gripping things, his skin ripped up from friction. 

“Clint? Clint?” a thick arm wrapped around his waist and he slipped unconscious again. 

 

“I have the Hawk, he is unwell,” Thor intoned. 

“How unwell is unwell?” Tony questioned, where he was still demolishing the AIM base. 

“I am unsure. He is alive and there are only a few wounds.”

“Capture one of the AIM agents, find out what they did to Hawkeye,” Coulson urged over the com-lines. “Thor return with Hawkeye to quinjet. Dr. Banner, be ready.”

Steve piped in then, “AIM scientists are in custody and Widow and I are in reroute to SHIELD vehicles.”

“Good job, Avengers. Clean up teams are deployed, debrief an hour post arrival to the Helicarrier.” 

Coulson counted to ten to get himself under control and turn around to go find his agent. 

He was already on the medical table in the back with a SHIELD medic and Bruce hovering. Clint looked better than he had anticipated. He was unconscious but his skin was mostly unmarred, even if it was too pale and had a faint waxy sheen to it. The first thing he noticed most was Clint was soaked, his pants were wet, his hair matted down, and he smelled like he had been fished from the sea. 

“I need a finger stick and lets get some lines in,” the medic, Shawn, urged. “Be careful with his skin, it looks broken in a few places and I don’t see any blood.” 

Clint jerked awake then suddenly, his arms and legs kicking out suddenly. He looked around blearily, before meeting Bruce’s face. “Don’ smack me,” he said before he passed out again. 

“What the Hell?” Bruce wondered. 

“He’s insensate,” the medic concluded.

Shawn pinched Clint’s skin, rubbing away a layer in a way that made Coulson’s stomach roll. It took a long while to snap back. The finger stick must’ve relayed something to Shawn because he looked slightly unnerved, as close to panicked as the man ever got. 

They hooked in an IV line and Shawn pulled Clint upright to dry his back. The archer flailed awake again, his head seemed like it wasn’t balanced properly on his shoulders, rolling wildly as he tried to pull it up. His breathing was so loud and labored Coulson feared he would stop breathing altogether.

“Stop, stop, Clint,” Coulson urged. He walked to the other side of the bed and grabbed the archer’s head gently in his hands, holding it steady and upright. “Stop.”

Clint’s gaze turned in his direction. “Tha…s, Colon.” And he passed out again. 

Then Clint seized, his body jerked wildly as Natasha and Steve forced the jet to fly faster. Bruce held on doggedly as Clint was forced onto his side to ride out the seizure. Phil held his feet, while Shawn counted under his breath, timing out the seizure. 

It was the longest minute and forty-nine seconds of the Avengers’ life. Steve and Tasha had asked once what was going on and then gotten very gone very quiet. Tony had continued to chatter in their ears, talking to Jarvis about seizures and what the possible cause was as he streaked ahead to the Helicarrier. They landed two minutes after Tony, Clint unconscious as they prepared to unload him. He awoke again, as they began to roll towards the med bay. His legs jerked in and his arms seemed to arms waved, he looked around him. 

“Stev?” he questioned, looking at the big blonde. “I don’ know. Ax, Tony,” he slurred.

“I will,” the Cap confirmed, patting Clint’s bare shoulder. He appeared soothed and his eyes fluttered closed again. 

They refused the Avengers entrance into the med bay room to watch over Clint. They ran a few tests and Clint woke up at random but soon even Agent Coulson was held back as they rolled him away for scans. 

“I want an update as soon as possible,” he ordered. 

Shawn waved back at him. “I’ll go with them Agent Coulson.” He jogged after the rolling gurney. 

Coulson shrugged off the nurse and turned around to find the waiting Avengers. They were all gathered in the conference room to debrief. 

“How’s Clint?” Bruce began before he’d had a chance to sit. 

“They aren’t sure what’s going on yet. They’ll make us aware after they’ve run more scans.”

Tony, for once, was silent, his eyes darting around the room. 

“Let’s debrief,” Steve began. 

Coulson nodded and mentally tightened up his Agent persona. “Agent Barton, codename Hawkeye was recovered, missing twenty-three days. AIM personnel were recovered having captured Agent Barton for unknown reasons. What did you experience Iron Man?”

He went one by one through the Avengers, noting their contributions and observations. Thor’s was the hardest to get through. 

“Upon removing the roof of said warehouse, I noticed the smell of the sea and running men in white jackets, fools that proclaim themselves scientists. There was a large container of water, a morbid pool of sorts with a pale man adrift on an island in the middle. When I came closer I saw my comrade and friend, Hawkeye, poised on the island. I set myself on the edge of the container and felt the curl of lightning about my feet. I feared my friend electrified and called to him. He did not respond so I came closer. When there was no answer I picked him up, he awoke briefly, I think he feared he would fall but he slept. He struggled to breathe at some points. Wherein I brought him to you, Agent Coulson.”

Coulson sighed and nodded his head, saving his report. “Thank you, all. I am heading to see more about Agent Barton. You are dismissed.”

Coulson didn’t try to stop the other Avengers as they followed him to the med bay y. They waited a short twenty minutes before Shawn came in with the doctor. 

“You are Agent Barton’s medical proxy, Agent Coulson?” the doctor asked. 

Coulson nodded, climbing to his feet. “How is he?”

The doctor hesitated. The Avengers had learned that was never a good sign. “I’m going to be honest with you, he’s struggling. We are not quite sure what’s wrong with Agent Barton; he’s in and out of consciousness. His blood panel shows he’s very dehydrated and he has some caffeine in his body but surprisingly little else. He’s spent a lot of time in the water, which means some of his skin is peeling. He inhaled a lot of water and it’s causing mucus in his lungs. He’s on the fast track to pneumonia. What I am most concerned…

“Most concerned?” Tony interrupted. “That sounds all pretty concerning to me!”

“What I am most concerned about is his state of consciousness. He’s not really asleep but he’s not cognitively awake. He’s having micro sleep occasions and suffering hypnic jerks, where his body is trying to force itself awake.”

Steve shook his head, “So he can’t sleep? Won’t that just stop when he gets tired?”

The doctor shook his head. “No, his brain is simply not going to sleep. It’s putting him into an extremely stressed state; his organs could start to shut down. I can force him into unconsciousness but his immune system is already compromised and I would rather not unless I had too. He could stop breathing.” 

“Right now we are hoping that stabilizing his condition through painkillers, fluids, and oxygen will help. He’s struggling and mentally he’s destabilized. He’s hallucinating and we are just hoping he doesn’t seize again. We don’t know why he seized.”

The Avengers were very quiet. 

“We need to know what the AIM agents did to him to reverse it.”

Natasha unsheathed a knife and stood. “I’m on it.”

“Widow, we can’t…” Captain began.

“No, YOU can’t.” Natasha said turning on him, her look positively venomous. “You won’t. But I can and I will. You can sit up here, watch Clint fall apart and hope SHIELD can get the answers but I am going to do something.”

She left when there was no further protest, Thor behind her. 

 

Tony badgered, bartered, and besought medical’s permission to see Clint. Coulson didn’t try to stop him. Eventually, after many warnings from medical about how Clint wasn’t in his right mind and in poor condition, they were granted entrance. 

It was worse than they expected. 

Clint had been restrained around his chest. His eyes were closed when they came in. 

“Why is he restrained?” Steve asked.

“He’s hallucinating, he’s fallen out of bed three times.” 

A second later Clint jerked, his eyes flying wide as he coughed and wheezed. 

“Tasa?” he coughed, looking at nothing, his hands reaching out.

Steve stepped forward, taking Clint’s hand in his own, trying not to stare at the bruises on Clint’s face. “She’s downstairs, Clint. She’ll come see you in a minute. But Tony, Coulson, Bruce, and I are all here. Can you understand me?”

The archer’s chin dropped to his chest, pulling his hand away from Steve’s. “Tasa, Tasa, Tasa,” he mumbled. 

It appeared he said her name enough times because she came in a second later, kneeling on the bed and pulling Clint’s hands into her lap. She leaned in and whispered into his ear. Clint fell asleep again, or seemed to anyway, before jerking awake again. When he was “awake” he was delirious. When he was asleep, he wasn’t still, jerking, twitching, and grunting. 

“They told us what they did. We need to go outside.” Thor was waiting outside, pacing. 

She continued once Clint couldn’t hear them anymore. “They were testing sleep deprivation’s efficacy in getting him to tell them codes. He lasted eight days before they felt he snapped. They would let him sleep five to twenty minutes once a day or so, and pull him in for questioning. He stopped legitimately understanding them so they gave up trying to get information about him. When they found they wouldn’t get answers, they were trying to see how long it would take him to die. They were concerned he would die from the lung infection first. They modeled the test after tests done on animals.” 

Natasha nodded at the doctor as he stood to listen. “They used a large tank with a platform just big enough for him to balance on but not to sleep on. When he would fall asleep he would fall in the water, salt water. That’s why his eyes are swollen. He tried to get out of the tank but it was electrified, he tried a few times. After a few days he stopped, they think he forgot where the edge was. He tried floating face up but they would pour water on his face and he would be forced to wake up. They fed him with cereal bars and water thrown in the tank. It was an experiment for them in acute sleep deprivation. A big pointless experiment.”

Dr. Seb nodded. “Any medications? Drugs?”

She nodded. “They shot him up with things to keep him awake and laced his water with caffeine.”

The doctor nodded. “That explains why his immune system is so off.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Coulson began. 

“We need to get him to sleep. We’re going to suction his lungs later, normally we’d wait for medication to do it’s work but there’s too much built up to allow him to sleep right now.”

Coulson looked up concerned. “I thought you said you can’t sedate him?”

She shook her head. “We’re not. He’ll be awake. We will go in through his nose and then suction. Agent Coulson and Agent Romanoff I would appreciate it if you were there, a familiar voice might help.”

“You mean, you might need help restraining him,” Natasha corrected. 

“That too. I don’t think he’s rational enough right now to realize this if for his own good.”

Steve looked concerned. “Are we sure that’s humane?”

She nodded. “Right now, he’s suffocating on the mucus. Even if he could sleep the lack of oxygen will force him awake. It’s inhumane to wait it out.”

 

Later, Thor, Tony, and Steve were sent to change and eat while Natasha and Phil prepared themselves to help Clint through this. 

When they entered the room, Clint was still awake, his eyes blinking slowly. 

“Hello, Clint,” Phil started, patting Clint’s bare shoulder. 

“Phil,” Clint whispered, unmoving. He shook his head hard, like he was trying to clear it. It unbalanced him and he tipped over onto Phil, his head on Phil’s chest. He drooled a little onto Phil’s shirt, coughing mucus. The doctor was right. This was cruel.

Dr. Seb came in then, a small team trailing her. “Okay, people. This is our respiratory specialist; he’s going to be handling the procedure. We’re going to do this quick and carefully. We oxygenate, send a tube down, saline and suction him, and then we’re out. Five minutes, tops. Agent Barton is NOT going to be comfortable once we lay him flat, he’s still jerking a lot. Realize this will be uncomfortable for him, anyone that can’t handle this now, get out. Keep an eye on his oxygen levels; we don’t want him going hypoxic. Agent Romanoff and Coulson will be here to calm Agent Barton. The rest of you know your jobs… Let’s start.”

The nurse laid Clint’s bed back and gently guided Clint down on his back. When the younger man tried to sit upright again, coughing, the nurses stepped into hold him back down and used a strap around his chest. The respiratory expert took Clint’s head in his hands, spraying anesthetics and concentrated on searching for an airway down into Clint’s lungs. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” the therapist cajoled, under his breath, as Clint’s eyes widened. “You need to swallow Clint.”

Coulson took the hand Clint was using to reach for the tube and pulled it into his own, while Natasha took the other one. “Clint, it’s Coulson. Tasha is here. You’re okay. Swallow.” The archer’s strong but no longer callused hands flexed and clenched. 

“Okay, one hundred percent oxygen, no sparks people.” One of the nurses handed him an oxygen supply to put on Clint. 

Clint struggled to cope with the tube but he seemed to be listening to Natasha and Coulson’s voice, coaching him. 

“Okay, here we go,” the therapist said, grabbing a few tools from a sterile tray. A male nurse took Clint’s head in his hands, firm but gentle. “Clint, you’re going to be fine okay? This is going to help you. We’re not trying to hurt you.”

Coulson and Natasha weren’t sure what they did exactly but there was saline and suddenly Clint was trying to cough, harder than before. He struggled harder and both agents gripped Clint’s hands. A small machine clicked on and Clint struggled harder. 

“It’s bile, pulling back from his stomach. His airways are pretty swollen,” the doctor murmured. 

“Clint swallow,” the nurse holding Clint’s head ordered. “You need to swallow.”

“I know you’re freaked out right now, but you’re really okay,” Coulson tried to calm him, looking at the side of the archer’s face. “Swallow and we can be done.”

A few tears slipped from Clint’s red eyes and Phil’s heart rate sped up. “He’s in pain,” Coulson said urgently, reaching forward to thumb away the tears. 

“He’s just panicked,” the therapist said. Coulson noticed mucus slipping down the suction tube, even a bit of blood, the therapist didn’t appear worried so Coulson continued to murmur to Clint while the archer coughed and wheezed.

It was a long thirty seconds before the suction was pulled back and the tube came with it. They sat Clint back up, leaning him over a pillow to let him cough. 

“I will go update the others,” Natasha said, walking out. Watching her best friend and partner struggle had upset her. 

“I’ll wait with Clint,” Coulson said. He held Clint’s head against his shoulder, letting the man cough. “You’re fine, Clint. You’ll be okay. Just breathe. In and out. In and out.” 

He felt Clint get heavier and heavier, relaxing onto Coulson’s chest. “Let’s get an oxygen mask on him.” 

Phil took the mask and held it over Clint’s nose. The man’s eyes were half lidded and he didn’t move, seeming to concentrate on breathing. 

“Coul… son,” the man breathed. 

“It’s me, Clint. You’re okay.”

“Tired,” he breathed again. 

Coulson wrapped an arm around Clint’s back, rubbing the taut muscles; he could feel where Clint had lost weight. “I know, go to sleep.”

“Can’t. Can’t sleep.” Clint’s arms tightened around him, like he was trying to climb Phil before he suddenly slumped, his eyes closed. 

The Avengers shuffled in, refreshed. Bruce was in the lead with Natasha right behind him. 

“He’s breathing better,” Bruce started, looking at the monitors and taking Clint’s chart. “He’s getting more oxygen.”

Steve gave him a faint smile, sitting down on a chair. “He’s sleeping.”

Coulson’s back was cramping, holding Clint up at an awkward angle wasn’t comfortable. Fortunately, or unfortunately, that’s when Clint chose to jerk awake, his hands going to his legs, like he was going to pull his gun. 

“My gun… ‘s gone,” Clint slurred, patting the sheets. Clint’s arm reached over his shoulder, to grab an arrow from a quiver that wasn’t there. “’S all gone.” 

“You don’t have your weapons,” Coulson sighed. “It’s not here.”

Clint’s head whipped up, he looked around him for a second, zeroing in on Steve’s face. “Thor?”

Steve gave him a kind smile, “Why don’t you take a break, Agent Coulson? Agent Romanoff? I’ll keep watch for a while.”

Coulson reluctantly released Clint, letting him slump back against the bed. “Tony?” Clint wondered, looking around. “I gotta sleep.”

“I know, Katniss,” Tony said, stepping forward, his voice abnormally… pleasant. “Close your eyes for a bit. We’ll be here.”

He flinched but held steady when Clint’s hand reached out and tapped the arc reactor in the center of his chest. “You’re Tony…” the man confirmed to himself before his eyes slid closed all the way. 

“Have the doctors figured out a way to get him to sleep, yet?” Steve asked. Even though Clint was technically asleep now, they knew it would be a few minutes before he jerked awake again.

“Nothing,” Coulson answered. “Apparently, his body has conditioned itself to think it’s falling when he falls to sleep at a certain point. Clint adapts quickly, unfortunately so in this case. The psych department is trying to see if it can do anything. Sedating him, while his immune system is off and his breathing is labored is a bad idea and they’re reluctant to do it. Right now, we are keeping him comfortable.”

“Keeping him comfortable?” Tony inquired, his voice had taken on a dangerous timbre. “That sounds like we are waiting for death.”

Coulson shook his head. “If we can’t get this solved, he could die. But that’s not going to happen.”

“Get changed, Phil,” Bruce told him. Phil looked down, his suit was rumpled, mucus stained, and had drool on it. 

Phil nodded; he rubbed Clint’s hair once before walking away, Natasha on his heels after she leveled Bruce with a long look. It said, “Watch him” without having to open her mouth. 

Clint jerked awake a second after they left. “Phil!” he shouted, his eyes roaming. 

“He’s gone to change, Clint.” Bruce stepped to Clint’s side, checking his IV lines. 

The blonde didn’t seem to hear him; he grabbed the corner of Bruce’s jacket, holding tightly. He mumbled something about Phil’s hair, staring at the wall. 

“Tony, do you have an extra tablet? I’m going to start coming up with some more ideas.”


	2. Chapter 2

Clint wasn’t sure what was going on anymore, it was impossible to think. His brain hurt, physically hurt. He was so tired. It was awful. He just wanted to sleep but they kept moving him. Every time he closed his eyes, they pushed him, spun him, or just plain dropped him. Why did they keep waking him up?

Then they leaned him back. Was he with SHIELD? Did AIM still have him? He wanted to go home. God, he wanted to go home.

Then someone grabbed his head and he braced for a blow. He wasn’t expecting someone to start pushing things up his nose. He coughed and kicked his legs… or tried to. He was tied down. He panicked more. Then he could hear Coulson’s voice. Coulson was here! He was free. The man’s voice was calm but he couldn’t make out the words, he calmed with his voice.

He couldn’t breathe; there was something wrong. Natasha’s voice came and he calmed again. Why weren’t they freeing him? He couldn’t breathe at all. He was going to die. He was drowning. There was something… in his lungs. He was drowning. But wasn’t he dry? He had been wet so long maybe that’s just what it felt like now?

He could feel Coulson’s thumb on the side of his face, wiping away water. The fingers were stout and strong; the smooth scar in the center of his thumb let him know it truly was Phil. He still couldn’t breathe. He was going to die… at least Phil would be there.

Then he wasn’t drowning, his chest felt like it had grown three sizes and he could breathe again. His first deep breath was a mistake. He hacked and groaned, as hands set him up. It was Coulson. Coulson was here and he wasn’t drowning or dying, and he was safe.

God, he needed to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Watching their teammate drift in and out of consciousness was painful for the assembled men.

Steve was having more trouble than he thought, recalling when he watched his mother succumb to her own coughing illness. Clint was thinner than he recalled, his skin was cracked and dry. He sat up and coughed, spitting mucus out onto the bed sheet.

He spoke to the archer when he was aware, even if he didn’t make a lot of sense.

“Where’s my dad?” Clint asked, looking at his hand.

Steve’s brow wrinkled. “I don’t know.”

“Feels like he’s here,” he mumbled, reaching out and touching things, as if to double check they were actually there. He reached to poke Steve’s hair, flipping a lock of it before pulling away and nodding to himself.

“Why do you think he’s here?” Tony said, stopping Clint’s fingers from picking at his IV lines.

“Can’t breathe, chest hurts, my eye’s broke... Dad. Must’a done something.” The archer coughed hard, buckled over a large pillow.

Tony shook his head. “You’re okay. Your dad’s not here.”

“But he’ll come back!” Clint’s voice was full of fear, a fear they had never heard in the man’s voice. He had dived off buildings and faced the Hulk down, but for the first time he truly sounded terrified. “I won’t live if he does. I can’t. Where are my clothes? Gotta go.”

He tried to get up, but Steve’s hand on his leg kept him in the bed. “Your dad’s not here, Clint. You’re fine.”

“You’re lying!” he shouted suddenly shoving Steve, his push coming across with the strength of a kitten. The smaller blonde slumped against the bed, coughing.

He sat up again a minute later. “Gotta go,” Clint mumbled, reaching for the edge of the bed, trying to slide one leg off. He was succeeding and Steve didn’t want to resort back to tying him to the bed.

“Clint, who am I?” Steve asked.

Clint squinted at Steve, his eyes dawning with recognition. “Steve… Cap’n ‘Merica… Still gotta go.”

He sat forward and took Clint’s shoulders in his hands, looking the man in the eye. “You think your dad can get past me?”

“No, prolly not. Just don’ believe him,” Clint advised. “He lies.”

“Will do.” That seemed to soothe Clint long enough for the man to lie against the mattress again, nodding off.

“Holy crap on a cracker,” Tony groaned.

 

* * *

 

 

Clint seized that night, his body tensing and contracting as he struggled to breathe. The Avengers had taken shifts in the hallway outside Clint’s room, as well as in his room. They startled awake to blaring alarms and Thor’s urgent coaching to Clint.

“Calm yourself, Clint. This too shall pass,” the blonde giant urged, at a loss. He was holding Clint on his side, grimacing when the young man vomited but he did not release his hold.

It stopped; the seizure was quicker this time. The Avengers backed out of the room as Clint passed out and the doctor forced them to leave.

Phil had his face in his hands, while Natasha was eerily still beside him, perfectly poised to wait for hours or spring into action.

“It’s because he can’t sleep,” Bruce concluded needlessly. “Eventually something’s going to give. His immune system is compromised, he’s hyper metabolic.”

“Thanks for closed captioning that,” Tony groused, flicking through his StarkPad.

“I want to try something,” Bruce continued. “If we can get him to relax, really relax, he should go to sleep. He needs to be home but let’s start with trying to mitigate the hypnic jerk.”

Phil looked up then. “What do you recommend?”

“We can try soothing him to sleep first. Warm milk and music? What’s his bed routine? We need to be trying that? How about using weight? To make his body think it’s resting safely and not about to fall over? I know it’s not perfect but maybe a lead blanket will fool his brain long enough for him to sleep. It’ll take trial and error.”

When Dr. Seb stepped out to confirm what they already knew about they told her about Bruce’s idea.

“I am up for anything at this point,” Dr. Seb nodded.

They tried music first and dimming the lights. The music seemed to distract him but white noise didn’t. Dimmer lights did help him go to sleep a bit quicker but he panicked in complete darkness. They kept the lights at twenty percent.

Tony took off to engineer a weighted blanket, while Bruce decided to set up some parameters as Steve went to grab any blankets, including the lead ones in the radiologist lab.

He came back with a lot, Thor and his arms full of sheets, blankets, flak vests, and frighteningly enough, one of Director Fury’s trench coats.

Bruce timed out how long Clint took to snap awake and how long he stayed “awake.” They covered Clint with a simple sheet first but he jerked awake. They didn’t bother testing other weights and used, a lead blanket. Clint grumbled at the weight while he was awake, panicking that they were strapping him down again. He fell asleep and jerked back to consciousness.

“We can’t have weight on his chest,” Bruce mumbled to himself, chewing on a thumbnail as he thought. “But probably needs weight on his shoulders to reaffirm the sleeping. Weight should be upped by twenty percent on his waist and lower. Check circulation. A heavier blanket? A wrap? Something for his upper body?”

The scientist turned to look at Phil and Natasha still at the edge of Clint’s bed. “How does he normally sleep in deep sleep? On his back? Side? Exact position.”

Phil thought back to the numerous times he had woken the man or watched him fall asleep. “On his front, one arm under his head, one arm extended out. Sometimes he sits up and curls over his own legs.”

Bruce nodded, absorbing the information. “Let’s turn him then. If his O-sats drop we have to put him back. We can lotion his back too.”

They all had to avoid blushing when they maneuvered Clint around his own catheter. They thanked God that Clint hadn’t woken up when they did that. They put a sheet over Clint’s back before laying a few of the lead blankets across his legs and up towards his waist.

Bruce started the timer, Clint jerked and braced himself on his elbows to look around. Phil coaxed Clint back down onto the bed as Bruce timed how long it took him to go back to sleep, entering notes into his StarkPad. It took them three hours of trying something but Clint finally went to sleep faster, it was forty-five seconds outside of previous parameters, not a statistically significant data point but it was progress.

They added more weight. Director Fury’s jacket a barrier between the lead blankets and flak vests. When Clint started to sleep, Steve put an arm carefully over Clint’s shoulder blades to hold him steady.

“Yes,” Bruce hissed when Clint passed his previous record. The man jerked awake fifteen seconds later, struggling briefly before laying his head down and blinking blearily in the dim lighting.

“Coulson?” Clint asked. “Are ya’ here?”

“Here, Clint. You’re fine,” he reassured. “Go back to sleep.”

They couldn’t cheer but Phil and Bruce smiled broadly when Clint slipped back to sleep only two minutes later. They worked at it off and on, Bruce was unwilling to attach any electrodes to Clint yet, they didn’t want to disturb Clint until they were sure he was actually ready to sleep consistently.

After twenty minutes, they had to take the weight off of Clint. He was overheating and starting to sweat. He went back to jerking awake as usual once they removed the weight.

“Have those weighed,” Bruce told Steve. “Get the data to Tony. He’ll need more weight but at least he’ll have a starting point. I’m sending my data in an email.”

Steve nodded and hefted the weights to go find a scale.

Phil patted Bruce on the shoulder. “Thank you.”

“We’re not out of the woods yet. We just have some significant experimental parameters.”

 

* * *

 

 

They really should’ve seen it coming, Phil thought looking back on it. It just had seemed like such a tiny detail outside of the sleeping problem that it had been overlooked. Clint had started to smell; they hadn’t bathed him outside of a wipe down to eliminate salt post removal from the warehouse tank.

The doctor had Clint’s catheter removed and wheeled into the shower room, one they used for patients that needed help. Clint didn’t react when they turned on the shower but when they turned the spray on him the man seemed to gain back all the sense he had lost. He all but leapt out of the way, like a cat dropped into a bathtub. He ran to the door but when it didn’t open he sat down hard in the corner, breathing hard and coughing. He wiped hands down his body, trying to remove the water.

The nurse gave Clint a towel while the other left to retrieve an Avenger. Agent Coulson came in with Steve Rogers.

“Clint?” Phil called. “You okay?”

“I’m wet,” Clint said childishly. “Cold and wet.”

Phil sighed. “I know. You needed a bath, you are getting a bit whiffy.”

“I don’t want water,” Clint responded, his body swaying as he clutched the towel.

Phil looked at his options in the room. “What about we just get one part wet at a time? Start with your hair?” He doubted they’d be able to wash the entirety of the archer before he was overwhelmed but it was a start.

“Are you leaving?” Clint asked, staring at the wall.

Phil shook his head, stepping into Clint’s line of sight. “I’ll wash your hair for you. You stay still. Nancy? If you’ll get me the bucket in the corner and fill it with warm water?”

He showed Clint how to lean back and before Clint could rethink his decision he quickly poured water over his short hair. As expected the archer, sat up immediately thinking he was going under. He soaped down Clint’s hair and rinsed him again. He was losing another suit to Clint but he would charge it to SHIELD.

Steve helpfully brought a washcloth and soap. Clint allowed them to wash his arms and torso before deciding he had had enough and pushing them away. They were drying Clint almost as soon as they washed him but the man was still clearly uncomfortable.

Nancy handed them a bottle of lotion. “He needs more of that to help retain the moisture and prevent any further skin breaks.”

Clint did not like the lotion either, only tolerating a little at a time in his delusional state.

It was too much stress, for the already overextended archer and Clint was beginning to strain.

“Coulson, I gotta sleep,” he begged as they helped him to his feet. He had tried to lay down in the bathroom but they had refused, telling him he had a great bed down the hall.

“I know and you will,” Phil indulged. “Your room is right up here.”

Clint pulled away from Coulson, slipping his hand and turning around down the hall. Steve caught him as he swayed. “No, I gotta sleep.”

“Your bed is three doors away, Clint,” Steve pointed out. “We can go there.”

“Wha’ if my dad’s there? I can’ sleep there.” Clint struggled harder.

Steve gave up and lifted Clint, hoping that the faster he got the man to his room the faster he could get him to relax. He put Clint down on the bed and they dimmed the lights, resuming the white noise in the background to calm the man.

“You’re okay, Clint. Sleep.” Phil kept up the litany until Clint sank to sleep, the weights and Phil’s arm securing him.

He jerked awake off and on for the next hour, before they had to take the blankets away to let Clint cool off again. The man jerked awake more frequently and it was slowly wearing down the team.

 

* * *

 

 

“He needs to come home.” Bruce pointed at the man sitting dazedly up in bed, running his fingers across his arm. “He’s not comfortable here, he would sleep better at home. There’s nothing here that the doctors in Stark Tower can’t fix. The only thing that is critical is his brain melting out his ears from sheer exhaustion.”

Dr. Seb absorbed the information, for once not automatically throwing up five reasons not to take Clint back to the Avengers Tower.

“I’ll need twice daily updates,” she concedes. “Weekly visits by me and psych. I’ll need copies of his diet and a meticulous log kept of his input-output, as well as blood panels. He’ll also probably need to be suctioned again in the next few days. He’s fighting the infection but the mucus isn’t improving, it’s building. I can have my team come to him.”

“That’s all doable,” Tony added, already furiously typing into his phone to alert his people.

“I’ll start paperwork to send him home. But, as a warning, if I think he’s showing ANY sign of decline. he’s back here.”

“No offense, Doc. But he’s not exactly showing signs of improvement here,” Tony pointed out.

She nodded. “That’s why I’m sending him to you. I’ll put in his papers.”

 

* * *

 

 

It took twelve hours to have Clint ready for transport. The archer still wasn’t one hundred percent sure what was going on but Coulson had simply told him to come with him and that had been the end of any resistance the archer put up.

He was loaded into a wheelchair and pushed towards the hanger bay. Clint frowned at being made to lay on the med bay bed in the back of the Quinjet but fell asleep without too much argument.

“That’s the only benefit of this… thing. Clint can’t stay awake long enough to really argue. He’s certainly not sensible enough to make a good argument.” Natasha buckled Clint down as the jet rose into the air.

On the flight, Clint jerked awake several times, trying to sit up but Natasha laid him back down each time, talking to him until he fell asleep.

They ferreted Clint into his own room and Tony brought in his new blanket with all the showmanship of Vanna White. He forced Steve to hold the heavy blanket up while he paraded around it.

“This is the StarkSnuggler, patent pending. It features on one side denim fabric, ideal for rough and tumble guys like our fair Hawkeye. Featured on the other side is 400-thread count Egyptian cotton, ideal for keeping a bird cool and comfortable. Between these two fabulous pieces is a cooling system, quarter inch tubes circulating cool water running through the sheets and it can be reversed to make warm water to heat the blanket and it’s user. Every three inches of this king size blanket is sewn with a string of half-inch tungsten balls to add a significant weight, each string weighs a little more than 7 pounds. These are also removable. This all amounts to an overall weight of 220 pounds.”

“Can I put this down?” Steve asked.

Tony rolled his eyes. “You ruined the presentation, Steve. Ruined. That was the launch party and press conference. I even have cookies and refreshments. Can’t you just be cool? One time? Please? Just once? Plea…”

“I’m putting it down,” Steve interrupted, dropping the blanket on the floor.

Thor scooped it up. “I believe the mighty Hawk is in need of this.”

“I haven’t had a chance to seriously test it so Jarvis needs to monitor Clint. I don’t think it will fail but if the cooling system failed it could cause a problem. It’s also a lot of weight. We could lighten it around his chest.” Tony said, sound weirdly anxious. He showed them how to turn the blanket on before scampering off.

“Thor and I will go in and try to put Clint to bed with this. Why don’t the rest of you wash and regroup? We’ll need dinner and I’m hoping Clint will eat something.” Phil nodded at them and turned to enter the quiet bedroom.

When they came in Clint was leaned against the window overlooking the New York afternoon skyline. The window was the only thing holding him up.

“I’m so tired, Phil,” Clint said.

The brunette nodded, even though Clint wasn’t looking at him. “I know. Tony made you a blanket that might help.”

Phil took Clint’s hand in his and towed him towards the archer’s bed. It was a king size bed, covered with more pillows and blankets than Phil was sure could actually fit comfortablly on the bed. But it worked. Stuffed into the voluminous piles was also a pair of jeans, sweats, a sweatshirt, and some t-shirts. He removed what he could, an impressive pile of laundry within the sheets. The older man let Clint settle into the bed before, rubbing helping Thor settle the blanket across his back. Letting the weight hold him down.

He put one heavy hand across Clint’s shoulder blades; Thor clicked on the cooling device.

“Hnn… nhhh,” Clint shot upright and tried to climb away.

“Calm, Clint. You’re okay.”

The younger man shook his head, mostly awake. “Water, water.” Thor pulled the blanket back.

Shit, Phil thought to himself. The man could hear the water circulating in the blanket. They were back to square one.

“Shit, shit, shit. Damn it all!” Phil cursed.

The blonde was sitting up in bed, his head swaying. “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled.

“No, you’re fine, Clint. Can you just try to lie down again? No more water.”

“I’m really tired. I need to sleep.” Clint rubbed his hands over his face, like he could rub the sleep from his face if he tried very hard.

Phil sighed. “Okay, just let me get this blanket fixed.”

The oddest thing happened then, Clint burst into tears, burying his face in his knees before he tipped over. Phil pulled him up, letting Clint bury his face in his shoulder. “I’m so tired. I got to sleep. Just let me sleep?” Clint moaned, breathing hard.

“You can, just lay down.”

Clint nodded, stretching out and staring around blindly. He sniffled but was quiet.

Thor had an odd look on his face before he began. “I have an idea I would like to try. I feel it cannot harm my comrade, if he is amenable of course.”

Phil was interested in any idea at this point. “What is it?”

“I shall share Clint’s sleeping space, my arm and leg should be enough weight to coax him to sleep. I will feel if he gets warm. And beside, sleeping beside a comrade can help make a troubled warrior more secure.”

Phil didn’t spend long thinking about it. “It can’t hurt. Just don’t drool on him.”

Thor looked confused for a second before nodding and shucking off his heavy outer layer, leaving the demi-god in a tunic and… breeches. He really needed to introduce the god to Midgardian wear. Or get Tony to do it. If Clint were better the archer could do it, he worked well with Thor.

Clint had stretched out and let Thor lay a leg across his, a heavy arm across Clint’s shoulder blades. “You’re okay,” the god soothed. “Sleep, brother.”

And miracles upon miracles… he did.

Clint slept the longest he had in weeks. Eighteen minutes of uninterrupted sleep before he jerked hard. His eyes opened halfway, looking around before nodding off again. This time he slept eleven minutes. Then thirteen.

Phil snuck out with Jarvis’ promise to update him if anything significant happened and to record data.

“He couldn’t sleep. He could hear the water in the pumps,” Phil said, hauling the blanket behind him. “Thor has agreed to act like a blanket and he is… kind of sleeping now.”

Tony tossed his fork, tapping his chin to think. “I can quiet the pump but that will take time. Can we try ambient noise to drown it out? Sounds of the rainforest or a train? Cap grab the StarkSnuggler, Bruce follow me. We have science!”

“I am making Clint dinner in two hours,” Bruce reminded him, following the genius out the door.

“Science waits for no man, my dear Banner!”

 

* * *

 

 

Tony did manage to quiet the water but not before Steve had to replace Thor as a human blanket, patiently holding Clint no matter how many times he jerked awake. The younger man was plainly exhausted.

Tony personally came to deliver the blanket and helped spread it out over a sleeping Clint. Steve released the younger man and slowly pulled away as the blanket took over his job.

After about twenty minutes, Phil breathed a sigh of relief. Clint was sleeping again. Tony and Steve took their leave.

He slept over an hour before drowsily awaking and stumbling to the bathroom. After four minutes, Phil stood to approach before Jarvis intervened.

“Sir, Agent Barton is… sleeping on the floor.”

Phil strode quickly into the room and stood across the way from a freaking out Clint.

“Clint, I need you to calm down and focus on my voice. Can you hear me?”

“I just want to sleep,” Clint begged, his eyes wet as he sat far away from the still flowing sink.

He reached over and shut off the water. “Come back to bed,” Coulson coaxed.

Natasha met him outside the door and took control of Clint, guiding him to the bed. “You must rest, Coulson,” Natasha chided.

“Bruce is coming we will take care of Clint.”

Phil frowned, but nodded anyway and left the room, passing Bruce on his way in.

They decided that Clint needed a quick, cleaning before they could put him to bed again. Clint pulled away from the wet towels but was soothed when he was nearly instantly dried off. They worked lotion over the dry spots and rashes on his skin.

 

* * *

 

 

When SHIELD medical personnel arrived at the tower Tony begrudgingly allowed them entrance. They brought their suctioning equipment and Clint cringed when he saw it. He was more aware of them this time.

They started to push the tube down his nose and forced Clint to swallow the thin tube, coughing as it entered his lungs and they began to suction.

“You’re fine, Clint,” the nurse coaxed as they suctioned more fluid from his lungs. They pulled back after a few moments. Clint was coughing hard as they pulled the tube away.

Steve was seated beside him and shooed them away once they were done, while Clint continued to cough fluid and shiver.

 

* * *

 

 

They set up a rotating table of Avengers to keep an eye on Clint. He slept hard, harder than they had ever seen. He’d be halfway through eating then suddenly turn on his side and go back to sleep. He also did it right when Steve had grabbed his orange pill bottle.

“Come on!” Steve grumbled, holding the pills out towards Clint. “It’s for the pneumonia. You’ll feel a lot better if you take them.”

Clint seemed to not hear him, burying his face under the pillows.

Steve tugged the pillows away and pulled Clint upright. He wasn’t braced for Clint’s kick to the chest and frantic scramble out of bed. He fell to the floor in a tangle, hacking and coughing.

“Calm, Clint. Calm,” Steve soothed, moving to the man’s side. He grabbed a tissue to catch the mucus Clint spit.

“Steve?” the smaller blonde asked, looking at Steve through bleary eyes.

“It’s me, pal. Let’s get these pills in you and get you back to bed.” Clint swallowed the pills and turned on the TV, seeming to have completely forgotten his earlier panic.

“What show do you want to watch?” Steve asked, his only reply was a soft snore.

 

* * *

 

 

His aversion to water slowly waned, though it would be months before he was ready to swim again.

Bruce was patient when it came time to help Clint eat, change, and clean up. The only other one patient enough for the task was Coulson and he was still sleeping off his night-watch duty.

Clint was panting in exhaustion as he sat down on the bed in his boxers. Bruce had helped his shave a bit and let him wipe himself down. Clint was slowly forcing himself to take care of himself again but he exhausted easily. The blonde was at the point where he just wanted to lay down and drowse but Bruce kept shoving pants onto his feet.

“Clint, please?” Bruce said quietly. “The doctor is going to come by and she doesn’t want to see you in your skivvies.”

Clint ignored him and pulled his legs to his chest. “I’m tired,” he whined beneath his breath.

“Please, Clint, just put on your pants. For me? Then I’ll bring soup.” Bruce burst into laughter. “That’s a phrase I never thought I would have to say.”

The blonde gave a quiet laugh in response. “Bribing me to put on pants? Sound like Pep.”

A few seconds later, Bruce got a snore and threw his head back in frustration, tossing the pants on top of a sleeping Clint.

* * *

 

Days went by where Clint’s major accomplishment of the day was making it to the front room and finishing a meal. Finishing a meal and a sitcom came next, and eventually Thor would carry an unconscious Clint and his StarkSnuggler back to bed.

Then one day, to the surprise of all, Clint stumbled out of the elevator at breakfast time and reached for a cup of coffee. He sat down at the table and smiled at them, though he looked exhausted and held his coffee as if it were a bomb.

“Are we eating breakfast?” Clint asked.

Coulson smiled and nodded. “Whatever you want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it ended a bit abruptly but it's what I had to go with. If inspiration comes to me I might write snippets.


End file.
